


Anguish

by LegendaryBard



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, The Institute - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBard/pseuds/LegendaryBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sole Survivor has to come to terms with the fact that his son isn't a little kid anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anguish

**Author's Note:**

> Looking at the tags, this work sounds horrifically boring, but oh well. 
> 
> A lot of fics either seemed to have Nate completely accept Father or else be really, really fucking angry, so I chose to explore a third option: Numb.

Father, admittedly, had no idea what he imagined his own father would do when finally getting to the Institute.

He had a military background, his files from Vault 111 had said as much. He had killed a Courser, which was a feat that very, very few could claim to have done. He’d tamed a Super Mutant and had it as his partner and companion, if reports could be believed, and he left an aftermath of bloody violence and justice wherever his shadow fell. He’d heard rumors that his father had even eaten his enemies in the aftermath of a fight- He was quick to dismiss that as just rumor, and witnesses had corroborated it was a falsehood, but the fact that so many believed it was disturbing and spoke to this man’s darker side.

Despite this, he had showed a sense of mercy and justice, on occasion. Even now in the Institute, he wore the garb of the Pre-War superhero, the Silver Shroud. It was amusing, and told a lot about him- Shawn’s father indulged others ( he’d humored and rescued a Ghoul who ran a radio station, which broadcasted the old Silver Shroud radio plays ) and was able to have fun even in the midst of the tumultuous chaos of aboveground. He’d even, amusingly enough, put on the Silver Shroud voice when dispensing justice, and had seemed to be having fun with playacting as a superhero. He’d helped out people aboveground, and wiped out nests of Super Mutants and Raiders, all without accepting a cap for it. He preferred a wink and a drink rather than pay- He helped people because he could, and never seemed to take the work he’d done or the people he’d killed seriously. 

Even though, it was important to note that he was still dangerous and tenacious.

The Sole Survivor had hounded and found the Institute, adjusted to the hell of the Commonwealth, established an efficient settlement, killed Kellogg, a Courser, and hundreds of Gunners, Super Mutants, and Raiders, and thrived on top, all in the short span of a few weeks. Shawn’s father was nothing if not extraordinary- Efficient and hotblooded. He’d gone under the Minuteman banner, helping the Commonwealth folk by singlehandedly wiping out infestations of horrific creatures and psychopathic junkies, lending a hand to fortify a rundown shack or aid a farm in flourishing. That was worrying for the prospect of him joining the Institute- He’d already come under a faction’s influence. However vainly, Shawn still hoped that since he’d shown promise for helping the Commonwealth’s citizens, he’d see that synths- and by proxy, the Institute- was the way of the future.

In all likelihood, though, he expected to be spurned, as the fiery-tempered Vault Dweller wouldn’t be stable enough or clear enough to see the Institute’s full vision. At the very worst, he expected to be killed. 

What he didn’t expect was for the man to start crying. 

He staggered over to the closest wall, bracing himself with an elbow and trying to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. He pawed at his face through black leather gloves, shaking his head and whimpering softly. His face had gone blotchy red, eyes tinged with crimson. Father wasn’t really sure how to react. 

“Nate?” Shawn prompted awkwardly. The man shot him a glare- Acid, venom, fire, all within it, enough to unnerve the head of the Institute. He didn’t think the teary hatred was directed at him… It was something more nebulous, more widespread. He was angry, but not at Shawn himself- Angry at fate, maybe.

“Shut up. You shut up, right now.” His voice quivered with emotion. 

“I understand you must be feeling terrible, but there is nothing to mourn-”

“You have no IDEA what I feel!” His father snarled at him, shoving himself off the wall and stomping up to Shawn. The shroud’s costume’s coattails billowed dramatically, and that sense of unease hit Shawn again, double-strength. This must’ve been what it was like for the villains in those radio plays. “I just… I wanted my son. And… You are, but you’re not. I wanted my baby boy. I wanted…” His voice cracked slightly. “You have no idea what I’ve done to try to see you safe. I made… I built you a room… In my house for when I rescued you. Where your crib used to be. God, the world was so fucked now, and you weren’t a baby anymore, but I thought even though I’d missed so many years, I’d get to talk to you about growing up, I thought I could teach you to farm and shoot and have Strong carry you on his back-“ 

His smile was anguished, his breathing jagged, wrought with sobs. “I lost my wife. I lost my son.”

Shawn tried to offer an alternative. “This synth is a prototype, but I assure you, you can have a son if you so wish. You can have a new Shawn.” 

“I wanted my SON, not a fucking machine!” Shawn didn’t actually think that people punched walls or kicked things if they were angry, but the fist that slammed into the nearest metal plate proved him wrong and made him flinch slightly. A moment later, Sole cooled off, pressing his back to the wall and slumping. He buried his face in his hands, breathing hard. 

“I know there’s a bottle of booze in the room behind you.” The Sole Survivor’s voice was ragged, thick with grief; it brought to mind images of razor blades and shattered glass. “Give it to me. Right now, or I swear to God, my son or not, I will fucking splatter your brains across the nearest wall.”

Definitely not what Father had been expecting. He went and fetched the alcohol, offering it to Sole. He snatched it out of his hand and drunk. He watched, worried and fascinated, as Sole chugged an entire bottle of wine in close to one go. He expected it when Sole picked it up by the neck and threw it across the room- Father understood the human impulse to want to destroy when in pain or grieving. He winced at the impressive shattering sound, knew he’d have to get a synth to clean up the sharp little glinting bits that got everywhere.

“Better.” Sole’s voice caught, in the beginning of a drunken slur. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. “God. God, I fucked up. God, this is fucked up.” 

Father genuinely had no idea what to do. He was not really used to this- This feeling of uncertainty. 

His father slumped against the wall with his eyes shut, and Father watched closely to make sure his chest was still periodically rising and falling. It was shallow and slow, but had a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Shawn’d nearly thought the man fell asleep until he jerked awake with a loud, coughing snarl, like a wild animal. 

He staggered to his feet, eyes blurry with tears and alcohol wafting off his breath. He let out a guttural little ‘ghh’, and tried to push past Shawn. Father let him go. 

He ascended the stairs, and Father winced softly as he slipped and went crashing down. He sat there brokenly, like a marionette with its strings cut. Father could see the wheels turning in his head as his drunken mind tried to comprehend why he was now on the ground and where his goal was currently located. The Sole Survivor took a moment to orient himself, then staggered up the stairs determinedly until he stood at the top. 

“The fuckin’ door’s locked.” His dad alerted him, jerking his thumb towards one of the sliding doors leading into the rest of the Institute. 

“Yes. It will be until you are sober and ready to open your mind to the Institute.”

“Open the fuckin’ door so I can leave.”

“The elevator’s that way.” Father inclined his head politely towards it, heart sinking just a little. Not what he’d imagined, not what he’d imagined at all. He didn’t want his father to impulsively stomp off while inebriated and emotional. “That is the way to the surface.” 

“S’not where I’m tryin’ to go.” He glared at the door sullenly, gave it a sharp, rattling kick and cursed at the sudden burst of pain. “Aghhh… Shawn, as your fuckin’ dad, I am fucking ordering you to open this fucking door right fucking now.” 

“You should lay down.” Shawn said gently. 

His father gave him an angry look with no real heart in it, but staggered drunkenly to the nearest corner. He curled up on his floor, back pressed against the wall. Father stared, feeling a little numbed himself, as the Vault Dweller drifted off to sleep. He was going to have one hell of a hangover when he woke up…

-

The Sole Survivor woke up in a comfortable bed. He was still in his Shroud outfit, which was nice. The trench coat and hat were near and dear to his heart, and other than Strong, was just about his closest friend. He was vaguely aware of an IV being fed into his arm. He knew better than to rip it out- if he did, he was gonna bleed like hell. 

He tried to get a look at his surroundings- Preferable to thinking about his son. He wasn’t ready to tackle that emotionally or physically. There was a lot of white everywhere, which pointed to this still being the institute. The decorating was bare-bones, with a potted plant and a desk and not much else. The stand for his IV was off to one corner.

His trusty 10mm pistol was gone, as was every frag grenade he’d slipped into his pockets. Even the combat knife he’d slid into his boot was missing. The modded laser musket he kept strapped to his back was gone, too. Just great. 

He rolled on one side, growling, and tried to rise. He’d had an IV in his arm before, maybe he could remove it himself- 

“Don’t do that.” A female voice suggested. He looked around, to find a woman. She was dressed oddly- A white garb, with a smocklike material. She had red hair pinned back, intelligent brown eyes. He was pretty sure he’d never seen her before, but given that she was Institute, likely no one aboveground ever had. 

“Synth or human?” Sole grunted. Had to get priorities straight. 

“Synth.” She responded. 

“Good. Where’s my stuff?”

“Your weapons have been taken, until we can know whether you are a danger to the Institute or not.” She responded smartly.

“Are you some kind of nurse?” He asked. The memory of the day prior niggled in the back of his mind, and stung anew- He groaned in agitation and rolled on his other side, away from her. If she said anything in response, he blocked it out as a surge of grief and pain hit him once more. There was nothing to fight in the Institute. This wasn’t like one of those comic books or movies where the enemy was just that: a faceless, nameless bad guy, the villain with no redeeming qualities. His son- the one he was trying to rescue- was the Institute. 

After a moment of laying there he just felt numb. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling an odd sense of disconnection. This was wrong. Oh, God, everything was so fucked up, so mutilated. The way he saw it, he could lash out senselessly, like an animal caught in a trap, or he could continue laying here until he just withered and died. Both would end badly, he was sure, but one took more effort and willpower than the other, so he breathed steady and looked directly up. The synth woman hadn’t moved. 

He felt cheated. Yes, that was it. He had been promised a villain to vanquish, like the Antagonizer or the Mechanist. He’d been promised that he would swoop in, save the day, beat the bad guys, and be a father like he’d always dreamed. He was promised revenge- Killing Kellogg hadn’t avenged his wife, nothing would feel right until he had his son back in his arms.

But his son was physically a sixty year old man, double his own age. 

He drifted for a while, feeling kind of lost. He wasn’t sure if there was some kind of morphine drip or what, but he found it very easy to lie still and let static flicker through his head. Any time he pieced together any kind of motivation to move, it slipped out of his grasp like water in a sieve. Maybe it wasn’t worth trying to move. God knows he wasn’t that important, he could just give up and let go like hundreds of other people in the Wasteland who had been powerless when they lost their family. His situation was even worse- His son hadn’t died, but was lost to him, and it hurt just as badly as the death of Sole’s wife. It hurt, oh God, but it was a numbed, dull kind of hurt. He might’ve started crying, he wasn’t sure.

The woman synth left at some point, and came back later. “How are you feeling?”

His gaze flicked over to her. The honest answer was ‘empty’, but he guessed that’d probably not go very well. He took a quick assessment of his body, seeing if he could find a non-emotional pain to complain about and ask her to soothe. His knee still hurt from when a Raider kneecapped him, but a stimpak had adequately done the wound. He guessed little fragments of his patella were probably still jiggling around in there, though, and that’s what was hurting. There was also the weight of exhaustion, both mental and physical, but resting in a bed was taking care of that anyway.

“Knee hurts.” He said finally. “Been taking Med-X to get rid of the pain. Where’d you put my Med-X?” 

“Everything but your clothes was confiscated. It’s waiting for you when you decide to rejoin the Institute or leave.” 

“Leaving sounds like a good idea.” He said. He sounded hollow. Broken. He’d met soldiers in the Time Before ( Sole felt like they ought to deserve capital letters ) who sounded the same way. He’d met settlers who did, too. “I don’t think I want to be here anymore.” Wanted to go home. Wanted to see Strong. Wanted to… 

“Get this fucking drip out of my arm right now,” He tried to muster all the authority he could, but his words fell flat. She must’ve been asked to carry out what he told her to do, because she removed and bandaged it with precision. He rolled his sleeve back down, and lay back on the bed, taking a steadying breath. Then he gestured her over, not entirely certain he could stand on his own. 

“Help me.”

She did. 

Half-draped over her, Sole limped out. His knee sent little shoots of pained protest up his bones, alerting him to the problem, and he felt the vague itch dance across his skin, a light craving for his next shot of morphine. He should probably see a doctor when he gets out. 

He couldn’t muster up the energy to shoot dirty looks at the people nearby. He could feel stares on his back, murmurs of uncertainty and speculation among themselves. They were more like a bunch of high school nerds than the boogeymen Sole’d been lead to believe they were. Inwardly he took great pleasure in critiquing their appearances, being as critical and vicious as he was during combat. Being mad, having something to vent his pent-up frustration and rage on, was good, even if it didn’t get rid of the empty hollow in his chest and the seeping weariness in his bones. 

“Should I talk to Father?” Not Shawn. At least internally, he’d deny Shawn the right to carry the name of his son. Sole didn’t think he deserved to share names with the sweet, innocent baby boy he’d known from so long ago. 

“He was worried about you.” The synth said neutrally, not advising him one way or the other. He accepted that. 

“Help me get to him. I’m going to hear him out.”

“That’s good.” Relief flooded her voice, and it felt like the hollow in his chest had grown a few inches larger and himself a few shades number. This was surreal. 

Stairs were a challenge with his bum knee, but they managed to get all the way up to Father’s quarters to talk with him. The Synth helped him carefully lean against a wall, and his knee started throbbing, demanding urgent attention. Sole ignored it. The synth lady pulled up two chairs, one for Sole and one for Father, who looked just a titch worried. The worriedness sent a pang of unease and a resurgence of grief through the Vault Dweller- His son cared about him, for whatever selfish reason, but he did care. He thought he might start crying again. 

“Let’s talk… About the Institute. You’re in charge?” Sole’s voice was haggard, but faraway. Internally, he was disassociating from the conversation entirely. He felt… Blank. No answers about the shady group of scientists were going to fill this gap that Father’s identity had left. 

“I am the acting Director, yes. I spent decades to reach this point. It is a responsibility I take very seriously. The Institute… It’s important. It really is humanity’s best hope for the future, no matter what those above ground might think of us.” 

Silence. A tiny little exhale through Sole’s nose, and he closed his eyes. “This is a lot. To take in.”

“I know.” Father’s voice seemed genuinely sympathetic. Sole took a tiny bit of comfort in that. Not much. “I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind and see what we have to offer.”

“Yeah.” Sole murmured. “Okay. If I want to join… How would I… You know. Get started.” 

“Get to know the Institute. The people in it, who you’ll be working with.” Father nodded slightly. “The most important people to know are the heads of the Divisions- Doctor Fillmore in Facilities, Doctor Ayo in the SRB, Doctor Holdren in BioScience, and Doctor Li in Advanced Systems. They’ve been notified of your arrival. Talk to them, then come back to me, and we’ll see where we go from here.”

Sole exhaled slowly. “I need… Not my weapons, but my stuff. I need it.”

“You had a large quantity of Med-X with you.” Father observed neutrally. “Is that what you’re after?”

“I need it.” Sole persisted. He couldn’t put enough anger into his words to make it urgent or threatening enough. 

“Is it for an injury?” Father asked, voice dipping into a kindly, persuasive tone. “Dr. Volkert is an excellent physician, and can cure whatever is the matter.” 

“Forget it.” His desire to spurn the Institute burned hotter than the pain in his knee. He rose from the chair, and the synth nurse flinched. His calf wobbled dangerously, but held his weight. Each step away from Father sent a little jolting lance up his shattered patella, racing along up his nerves and to the base of his skull. He did a little running commentary in his head as he limped down the stairs: _Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow._

The synth woman came slowly after him, trying to make it look like she wasn’t following him when it was, in fact, really obvious that was exactly what she was doing. 

Divisions… Divisions… Which one to start with? 

Something pinged in his mind, a reminder. A feeling he’d forgotten something, something important. Someone important. He’d gotten the holotape for Sturges, so that wasn’t it, so what…? 

He immediately lurched forwards, sprinting for the BioScience lab. His knee shrieked with pain with each step, and he got some weird looks as he passed. The silly black trench getup and the fact that nobody seemed to run anywhere probably was enough- He skidded to a halt in front of the door, opening it and determinedly limping into the place. More polished white walls, ceilings, floors, this time with some plants sprinkled within, and he stopped for just a heartbeat to look at the gorillas. Neat, but not altogether what he was here for. 

Some of the BioScience people, evidently wondering what a crazy man dressed like the Silver Shroud was doing, came over as he feverishly hobbled through the labs. 

“You must be-“

He held up a hand for silence, and then spotted what he was looking for- A terminal. 

“You can’t touch-”

Another dismissive hand gesture, and one of the doctors tried to persist: 

“That terminal is heavily encrypted-”

He exploited that weakness in all RobCo terminals to get to the ‘hacking’ page- The stream of symbols and random strings of words. He’d hacked worse terminals than this- He wrestled with it for a moment, then came out on top, and disabled a laser grid. Then he walked through, reenabled it, ignoring the chorus of scientists telling him not to go in. 

Super mutants in giant jars- Reminded him of pickled eels or frogs or something. But while it was a step in the right direction, it wasn’t what he was looking for, not really. Where was it, where was it, where was…

Ah! In some strange machine off to the left. He strode up to it, detached what looked like it ought to be it. Virgil’s experimental serum, sealed away in some weird canister. He pocketed it, and breathed easy. 

Now he had no reason to be here. Now he could grieve at home. Strong wouldn’t understand, though. Dogmeat wouldn’t. Maybe Nick, the rundown synth from Diamond City. He seemed like a good person to talk to. He’d been instrumental in finding Kellogg and the Institute, so he, at the very least, would understand where his pain was coming from. 

He sagged on the table, not quite yet ready to go out there and face the consequences for doing what he’d just done. It wasn’t like he could live in the BioScience’s rundown FEV lab. How would he explain it? He’d been weak-limbed and broken-spirited ever since he found out his son was a grown man, and would need some kind of excuse for charging off for the FEV lab like some kind of hellbent maniac. He couldn’t for the life of him think of something. 

-

His father had locked himself in the FEV lab.

He’d heard the reports, obviously. He’d been bitterly limping along, dull-eyed and exhausted ( Shawn worried that he might’ve damaged his father’s already fragile psyche with the synth child stunt ) and had suddenly bulldozed off towards the BioScience lab without so much as a word to anyone. He’d sealed himself in the FEV lab and hadn’t said a word to anyone in about an hour, and everyone was in an odd state of unease. Having a guest was unheard of but could be welcome, but having a guest barricade himself in a room was unheard of and horrifically concerning. 

Father could rationalize why his father behaved the way he did- The human mind was fragile, and if pushed too far, it would snap. Erratic behavior, anger, mood swings, these were all natural when finding out your son was a sixty year old man. He didn’t know if he could explain it convincingly enough to everyone else, though. They’d accept his order without question, but there would always be lingering whispers that the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 was dangerous or unstable. 

Father ordered for everyone to stand down and leave him alone. Sole would leave when he was ready, ( or at least he hoped ), and would cool down eventually. Perhaps it was too early to have let him lead his room. He needed time to heal and process; the hustle and bustle of the Institute might’ve been too much for him to bear, or triggered Pre-War memories, or simply been stimulatory overload in his delicate state. While his father could take physical pummelings from Super Mutants and Raiders and what other creatures lurked aboveground, mental trauma was the real danger here. A hysterical man with combat experience would always be more dangerous than a hysterical man who could only flail. 

One of the BioScience doctors opened the door. “Father, there’s, um, news. He’s injured. Bullet wounds to the shoulder, but he’s requested to be teleported back aboveground without treatment. He’s still coherent, and they’re mostly grazes, but there’s a lot of bleeding. What do you want us to do?”

The turrets in the FEV lab. Dammit. 

“Get him to Dr. Volkert. Ask him take a look at his knee and check him for signs of morphine addiction as well as the bullet wounds.”

“Okay.” She closed the door, hurried footsteps running down the staircase, and Father let out a slow, suffering sigh. 

His father was not the man he thought he’d be. But, he supposed when hearing stories about some Vault Dweller butchering dozens of people and potentially eating them, you tended to let your mind stray into the fanatical, the unreal. Sole was just as fragile as any other man, and he should’ve treated him that way. He cursed himself for the abruptness of his reveal, for the use of the synthetic child, but he thought that maybe it would help him understand, would give him new purpose- 

This was all deeply troubling. 

-

He dreamed while he was out. It wasn’t one of those cliché movie dreams, it was one that didn’t make any sense. 

Strong insisted that the milk of human kindness came from cows- He went around, trying to milk Brahmin, screaming in rage when they would give him nothing. He went around, begillerently bellowing at people about milk, until a terrified settler gave up a bottle. Strong proceeded to eat the bottle, yelling about how now he was so much stronger than humans. He shapeshifted into Dogmeat, barking and yapping enthusiastically, bounding around Sole’s heels and trying to lick his hands.

Codsworth clucked at him from where he was trimming a hedge, with an overlarge pair of safety scissors. “Sir, you know that you already have a dog, and you cannot get another one.” A mutant hound whimpered from the junkyard, yellow, ringed sclera resembling Nick Valentine’s. He even wore a tie and the old coat. Sole gave the poor thing a pat, and Dogmeat/Strong whined for his attention, and he was split in two, trying to pet them both. 

When he awoke again, he felt very foggy and disconnected, but he was getting used to waking up like that, especially after trips to the Diamond City shrink. He tried to remember where he was now, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He could feel the sweet floating sensation of morphine and anesthesia, and he enjoyed it while it lasted. 

He drifted in and out for a while, vaguely aware of people checking on him.

When he woke up and stayed woken, the synth from earlier slouched against a wall, watching him closely. “Ah, you’re awake. Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah. My knee’s not blown to shit anymore, is it? Do I owe you guys anything?” He asked faintly. “I think you took all my caps.”

“No compensation is required.” She said firmly. “Now, you really must get up, so many people want to need you and want to know about why you went in the FEV lab-”

Ah. All that. 

“Shock-induced mania.” He responded vaguely, hoping it sounded medical enough to get everyone off his back. He had Virgil’s serum and no reason to be here anymore. If he wanted to dredge up more hurt about the past, he’d just go back to Vault 111. “I want to go home. I’ll come back when I’m feeling better, but no offense, but I’m sick of waking up in bed surrounded by strangers.” 

When he got home, he was going to sleep for two years, then personally help every damn settlement in the entire Commonwealth. Mindlessly killing ghouls, mindlessly killing raiders and supermutants and clearing out nests of bugs- He needed carnage now, needed to not think, needed to wander into the Glowing Sea and give Virgil his serum and get away from the Institute. He’d ask Preston for jobs and fix up Sanctuary to his liking- He wouldn’t think about Shawn, or the Institute, or anyone. He’d close up this hole in his chest and fix the numbness through drink and busywork, once he was back on the surface. 

But for now, he drifted off again.

**Author's Note:**

> toying with the idea of a second chapter... any thoughts?


End file.
